


Half Life

by copperleaves



Series: Fractioned [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Journey to Hell, Megstiel - Freeform, Romance, Sequel, Trials
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperleaves/pseuds/copperleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this follow up to "Half of Something Else," Meg struggles with the fallout from her confrontation with Crowley, Cas worries about Naomi's continued control over his mind, and the boys seek to close the gates of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enter the Prophet

**I keep trying to understand**  
 **This thing and that thing,**  
 **My fellow man.**  
 **I guess I’ll let you know**  
 **When I figure it out.**  
-Duncan Sheik, “Half-life”

Dean stuck his head around the heavy metal door and glanced around. “If anyone’s fuckin’ in here, it better not be on the table! People eat on that table!”

“Dean, geez,” Sam said from behind him.

“What? I’m not kidding.”

“Would you just go inside? This thing is heavy as hell, and I’m beat.”

Dean opened the door wider and let Sam go ahead of him. He followed his brother inside and secured the door behind them. The bunker’s main room looked empty, and someone had cleaned up. The books had been put away, and all the old beer bottles cleared out. The door to Meg’s room was closed, but within a few minutes it opened and Cas appeared.

Sam set the lockbox on the table with a relieved sigh. “Hey, Cas,” he said. “Everything okay here?”

“All is well. Meg is resting. She was…wounded in the confrontation with Crowley and might be some time recovering.”

“Wounded?” Dean said. “She’s a demon. Don’t they have super healing powers kinda like angels?”

He hesitated. After the strange incident in the shower, they hadn’t discussed her injury or its possible implications. They hadn’t discussed anything at all. She’d fallen asleep curled against him, and he’d watched over her and waited for the Winchesters to return. He had no idea how much, if anything, she wanted them to know.

“Crowley stabbed her with an angel blade. It is not a typical injury,” he finally said.

Sam grimaced in sympathy. “She’s gonna be all right though, won’t she?”

Cas’ expression stilled. His eyes flicked away. “We should find out what’s inside the box.”

Dean and Sam exchanged long, wordless looks.”Yeah, Cas,” Dean finally said. “Let’s do that.” Whatever was up with Meg, Cas would either tell them, or he wouldn’t. Either way, there wasn’t much they could do about it now, and they had other things to worry about.

“Have you heard anything from Naomi?” Sam said as Dean went off in search of a hammer and a crowbar.

“Nothing since we left Marguerite, at least that I know of. Meg hasn’t mentioned any lapses on my part, so I think for now I’m in the clear. The wards here help, I’m sure.” His brow furrowed and he looked around. “Sometime you’ll have to tell me about this place.”

“It was sort of a gift. From our grandfather.”

“Samuel?”

“No,” Sam said. “The other one. Henry Winchester.”

“Ah, yes. I do recall that the Winchester line was the intellectual side of the family.” He studied Sam carefully, his eyes dark and probing. “There is great power here, Sam. I hope you and Dean understand the responsibility you’ve been given.”

“I think we’ve got some idea, Cas. We’re legacies, after all,” Dean said with a grin. He clapped the angel on the shoulder and brandished the tools he’d found. “Let’s see what’s in the box!”

“I’m uncertain force will produce the desired results,” Cas said. “Remy would have taken precautions.”

“Hum,” Dean said. “I’ve met very few problems that couldn’t be solved with a good crowbar. Besides, that lock looks like shit. One good smack. Sammy?”

Sam held out his hands and Dean tossed the crowbar to him. The elder Winchester appraised the box from various angles before he took a step back and raised the hammer. Cas shifted nervously but decided against further intercession. Dean cast a smirk over his shoulder at the angel and his brother and took a huge swing at the rickety old box.

There was a deafening  _clang_  like a mighty bell, and a blinding flash. Dean was thrown backwards into Sam, and they tumbled like rag dolls until the wall stopped them. Cas staggered against the force of the blast, and as the tumult quieted, he raised his head to wipe a trickle of blood from his nose. Meg’s door opened behind them and the demon stumbled out, her hands clasped over her ears.

“What the  _fuck_  did you morons just do?” she cried.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean said. He couldn’t move. For a few panicked heartbeats he thought he’d been really hurt, like paralyzed or something. Then he realized he was just stunned by the blast, and he slowly lurched to his feet and helped Sam up next to him. They reeled like drunkards and leaned against the wall as the bunker spun around them in identical ringing orbits.

“Think I’m gonna puke,” Sam muttered.

“Is the room actually moving, or is it me?” Dean said.

“Neither, you idiot,” Meg said with disgust. She handed Sam a trashcan and led him to a chair. When she came back for Dean he tried to resist, but she smacked him on the shoulder and he gave up. When they were both seated she gave Cas a tissue and fixed all three of them with a stern death glare. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a small bare foot against the cold stone floor.

“Okay. Now who’s gonna tell me what’s going on out here? Recreating Three Mile Island for shits and giggles?”

“I did say force was a bad idea,” Cas said. He sagged into a chair and pressed the tissue against his nose. His coat looked more rumpled than ever, and his hair stood up in a corona around his head.

Meg’s brows flicked toward her hairline and she circled the table. “Is this it?” she said. “This old thing is what Remy was hiding in his house?” She reached out a tentative hand to touch the rusting lockbox, but hesitated before her fingers made contact with the metal. “What’s in it?”

“That’s what we were trying to find out,” Dean said in a worn voice. “Clearly a hammer was a bad idea.”

She cast around a moment and scampered off. Returned with a barely recognizable bit of metal and tossed it on the table. “This hammer? Yeah, I’d say that was a bust.”

“Guess the crowbar’s out,” Sam said. He made a face at the trashcan and set it aside.

She leaned closer and studied the box through narrow eyes. She moved her left shoulder in an odd, restless sort of way, and eventually she reached up to rub it distractedly. Cas frowned, and Sam and Dean exchanged a loaded look.

“Meg,” Cas said, his voice steady and quiet.

“It’s got some serious mojo, but that’s obvious. There’s angel shit goin’ on, but somethin’ else, too. I guess that’s probably Remy’s work.” Her head tilted. “Warded. Against angels. Demons, too. Not humans. Probably not humans. You could probably find these wards in your books and undo them without big nasty explosions.”

A silence fell.

“You can tell all that just by lookin’ at it?” Dean said.

She glanced back, her mouth twisted in a droll smile. “Cas could too if he’d just bothered. Maybe not the demon part, but he doesn’t like to sully his sweet innocence.” She winked at him, and he shifted in his seat.

“You should step away, Meg,” he said.

“What? You think I’m gonna try to mess with your angel business? Hell no. I don’t want these anti-demon things to fry my brain.”

“No, it’s not that.” He touched her arm and pulled her back, gently but firmly.

“What, Clarence? I’m tryin’ to  _help_  here. Unruffle your feathers!”

He let out an impatient sigh. “It’s your wound. It glows brighter when you get close to the box. It was bothering you when you were close to it, wasn’t it?”

She looked away with a scowl.

“Meg, I could tell.”

“We all could,” Sam said after a moment.

“You told them?” she said to Cas, a whip-sharp accusation.

“I told them a little. They should know what’s happening, Meg, but I’ll only tell them as much as you wish.”

“That’s bullshit,” Dean said. “We need to know what’s up with you, Meg. If you want to be here, if you want us to help you—”

“Help me? Dean Winchester, help a demon? You must’ve hit your head harder than I thought.”

“Oh, get off it.” He rose to his feet, his legs still shaky, and squared off in front of her. She was such a tiny thing that sometimes he had to remind himself how powerful she really was. Now, when he felt weakened by the weird explosion and the room had the sickening tendency to take unexpected loops and dives, it was more important than ever to remember.

“Look, I don’t pretend to understand what’s goin’ on between you and Cas. You’re a demon, he’s an angel, it’s some sort of weird ‘opposites attract’ type thing. Okay, whatever. Bottom line is my idiot buddy, the holy tax accountant who’s like another brother to me, cares about you. As much as I hate to admit it, you’ve come through for us when it’s mattered. You’ve come through for Cas. It doesn’t cancel out the shit you did before, but…whatever. 

“I said we were with you, and that means  _you’re_  with  _us_. You got that? That means if you’re hurt and you need help, we fuckin’ help you. You don’t want to tell us what’s going on, that’s just fine. But remember that we’re tryin’ really hard to trust you, Meg, and maybe to do that we need a little bit of trust from you, too.”

She crossed her arms again and smiled up at him, sharp and teasing. Despite her struggle to hide it, something flickered through her eyes, something real, and he saw the pain and fear she hated so much and he understood it.

“You are havin’ one hell of a bad year, aren’t you?” he said.

She let out a rough laugh. “Yeah, Deano, I sure as fuck am.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead, mussing her bangs and attempting to soothe the tension there. “Crowley stabbed me with an angel sword. It should’ve killed me, but I guess because it missed anything vital, I live to fight another day. Apparently it created some sort of…permanent wound in my true form, my demon self. Clarence can see it. I can feel it.” She shrugged her good shoulder. “Neither of us really knows what it means.”

“Is it reversible?” Sam said.

“Not that I know of,” said Cas. “But I’ve never seen anything quite like this, so perhaps there is a way.”

“What’ll happen if you can’t heal it?” Dean said.

“I don’t know,” Cas said, tone dark. “A demon marked by Grace. A walking paradox. How can such a creature exist?”

Her mouth twisted. “Thanks, Clarence. You really know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“It was not my intention—”

She held up a hand. “Forget it, feathers. Listen, boys, it gets me all warm inside that you care. Really. Just like hot chocolate on Christmas morning, the kind with the little marshmallows and everything. But the tree topper said it: there’s nothing any of us can do. So why work ourselves up about it? Life goes on, and we’ve got bigger things to worry about than one little demon with one little unprecedented, incurable wound.”

Cas blinked. He turned to Dean. “Was that—?”

“Sarcasm, Cas.”

“So does that mean—?”

“Don’t bring it up again.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

“Yep. Don’t mention it.”

“Okay,” Meg said. “Glad we got that cleared up. Now, about your angel box. When Clarence and I—”

Dean’s phone interrupted her, and she glared at him. “Seriously?”

“Sorry. Probably not important since I give this number out to everybody.  _Oh wait_.” He flashed a brittle smile and checked the Caller ID. “It’s Kevin.”

Sam sat up and gestured for Dean to answer. He hit  _send_. “Hey, Kev, what’s up?”

Meg leaned down next to Cas. “Prophet boy, huh?” she said, pitching her voice low enough that Sam and Dean couldn’t hear over Dean’s tense conversation.

“Yes,” he said with a slight nod. “He’s been working on the demon tablet. Perhaps he has information on the next trial.”

“You mentioned the trials to Crowley. What’s up with that?”

Cas frowned and cut his eyes toward her. She was a demon, and it made him uncomfortable discussing this with her. Once they closed the Gates, she would be drawn into Hell with the rest of her brethren, and it wasn’t an idea he relished. “Kevin discovered that three trials must be completed to close the Gates of Hell. The first was bathing in the blood of a Hellhound.”

“Ugh.”

He acknowledged the sentiment with a brief flicker of his brows. “Sam completed the first trial, so now he must complete the other two.”

“Sam?”

“You sound surprised.”

She shrugged. Winced a bit. “Seems like mother hen over there wouldn’t let baby brother take on something like that, especially considering the whole ‘recovering demon blood addict’ issue. The only person our dear Deanikins completely trusts is our dear Deanikins.”

“Yes,” he said softly, “that’s true. Dean and I have not had a chance to discuss the issue in depth. I only know what I do from…observation.”

“Observation? You mean spying. You spy on them. That’s damn kinky, Clarence.”

He cleared his throat and looked away. “I merely check in from time to time. I recognize the human need for privacy, even if I don’t fully understand it.” He hesitated. “What happened earlier, with Crowley…” He lifted his head and their eyes locked; his were a blaze of blue. “Perhaps I understand a bit more, now.”

She blinked, and now it was her turn to look away. “It was nothing, Clarence. Taking my clothes off in front of a crowd is small potatoes compared to…” She let the thought wither and shook her head. Her mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “It was a really long year,” she finally said.

“Yeah, buddy, we’re on the way. Hang tight.” Dean rapped his knuckles against the table to get their attention and pointed at the phone. “No, listen, we’ll bring you here. We’ve got a place, and we’ve got some stuff going on that we can’t really step away from. Cas and I’ll be there in five. Eat a damn banana and take a shower, okay?” He hung up the phone and rolled his eyes a little. “Kid sounds like he’s wound tighter than a virgin on prom night.”

“Well, Dean, last time we saw him you gave him a giant bottle of uppers,” Sam said, “so I can’t really blame him.”

“I gave him downers, too. He’s supposed to be balancing.”

“Great. You’ve got your prophet reenacting  _Requiem for a Dream_. Real smooth, genius,” Meg said with a shake of her head.

He ignored her. “Cas, I told him we’d go to Garth’s boat and pick him up. You up for it?”

“Yes, Dean. I’m recovered from the explosion. Are you ready?” Cas reached for him, but Dean pulled back.

“You know, on second thought, maybe take Sammy. My head’s still ringin’ from that stupid thing, and I’m not sure if I can deal with any more angel shit right now.”

Cas’ head tilted and he studied him with concern. “As you wish,” he said. “Sam?”

“Yeah.” The younger Winchester clambered to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Cas grabbed his arm, and they blinked away.

Meg glanced over at Dean with a knowing smile. “Head still ringing. Right.”

“What?” he said with big, innocent eyes.

“You didn’t want to leave me alone in your Bat Cave with baby brother because you’re worried that he trusts me too much. That I’d take advantage of him. I’m good, sweetheart, but I’m not sure even I could work that fast. They’ll be back before the ice cream melts.”

His mouth quirked. He dodged around her to grab a beer out of the fridge. Gestured toward her with the bottle and grabbed a second one when she nodded. “I think I’ve made my feelings about this whole thing pretty clear.”

“Yeah, pretty boy,” she said as she twisted off the cap. “You’re not exactly a mystery.”

He took a long swig and eyed her over the bottle. “Could you just tell me one thing.”

“I’m an open book, sugar. What do you wanna know?”

His brow creased. The beer’s label had come loose at one corner, and he fiddled with it. “I just…why Cas? Isn’t it weird? He’s, like…your natural enemy. Back when we met Anna, Ruby was with us, and they both flipped out. Anna wasn’t even an angel then, but it was like oil and water on steroids.”

She was silent for so long he thought she wasn’t going to answer, but finally she stirred. “I don’t know. That’s lame as hell, and it sounds like a copout, but honestly. I can’t explain it. It’s like my whole fucking existence I’ve fought and fought and burned and hated and hurt, but when I’m with him, a little of that eases. It should scare the hell out of me, and maybe it does, but at the same time, it’s like…wow. Quiet. So quiet.

“Then he’s gone and all that… _noise_ …comes rushing back, and I just want the quiet again. It’s not something I should want, and I don’t know how to make sense of it. I stopped trying a while ago.” Her mouth quirked. “A century of unending torment kind of puts things into perspective.”

He stared at her as he mulled it over. Finally, “If something happens to him because of you, I’ll hunt you down and skin you alive.”

Her smile turned to sweet poison. “Oh, pretty boy, don’t you know?” She took a drag off her beer and gave a rueful shake of her head. “If something happens to him because of me, you won’t have to.”

There was the sound of wings somewhere behind them, and Kevin’s small exhalation of surprise. “We’ve returned with the prophet,” Cas said.

“Awesome,” said Dean, his eyes still locked on Meg’s.

“Brilliant,” she said. “Let’s get this party started.”


	2. A Psychopomp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam needs to go to Hell—literally—and he'll need some help getting there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end for some notes, guys!

**You people talk about the living and the dead as if they were two mutually exclusive categories. As if you cannot have a river that is also a road, or a song that is also a color.**  
-Neil Gaiman, _American Gods_

Kevin looked even worse than he had a few days ago, and Dean thought maybe Sam had been right about the pills. The kid was pale and jittery, and it was obvious he hadn't been sleeping. Again. Still.

"Kev, man. When was the last time you ate?" Dean said.

He ran a hand through his short black hair and shook his head in a quick, jerky way. "Um, I don't know. You told me to eat a banana, but we were out of bananas. Garth stopped by yesterday, or maybe two days ago, and got some supplies for me, but I ate everything, and he forgot to get bananas. If you have any bananas here I'll eat one. I'm allergic to tomatoes, though, so not tomatoes. What is this place?"

"Whoa, buddy, take a breath!" Dean said. "Here, sit down." He cast a loaded glance at Sam, and he grimaced.

"He's been like this since we got there. You turned him into a speed freak, Dean. His mom is gonna kick your ass."

Dean looked so alarmed at the idea that Meg snorted. "What, his mom some sort of body builder chick or something?"

Sam's face creased. "About your size," he said. At Meg's incredulous look, he held up his hands. "She punched Crowley in the face once."

"She hired a witch off Craig's List," Kevin said.

"She kidnapped a demon and trapped him in the trunk of her car," said Sam.

"She's really scary," Dean said with a wince.

She gave Cas an are these three kidding me with this shit? look, but Cas merely blinked at her.

"Mrs. Tran is a formidable woman," he said.

"No one's calling my mom. She's fine where she is. I'm not hungry. I've got a lot to tell you guys, and I don't really have time to eat."

"Hey," Dean said with a careless shrug, "it's fine. We get it. Work's important. You're a driven guy. I was just gonna pop to the kitchen and whip up some burgers. I make awesome burgers. You don't want one, that's cool. More for me and Sam, since the other two don't eat."

"I would enjoy a burger," said Cas.

"What the hell. If the winged avenger's eating, I might as well, too," Meg drawled. "Since he's cooking for everybody, I think I'm safe from Deano tryin' to poison me."

Kevin's eyes darted back and forth between them. "I remember you," he said. "Aren't you a demon?"

Her mouth curved and she fluttered her eyelashes at him. "I'm flattered, sweet cheeks. You've grown up since the last time I saw you."

"Yeah. Two years on the run will do that."

"Tell me about it." She jerked her chin toward the bag he clutched like a lifeline. "That thing's burnin' you up, kid. You should listen to big brother Dean and take a break. There's nothin' you have to say that can't be said over a nice cheeseburger."

He cradled the bag against his chest and glared at her. "What would you know about it?"

"I'm a demon, honey. What's more, I was Alastair's golden girl for more centuries than you got fingers and toes. When it comes to burning people up, a better question would be what don't I know about it." She tilted her head toward Cas. "Ask the angel. He can see it, too."

"It's true, Kevin. To be a prophet is a grave responsibility. Most of them have, as Meg says, burned out before their time. I remember Luke—"

"Yeah, yeah, always with the stories about Luke," Dean said. "Why don't you put the bag down and go get cleaned up. Nothing can get in here. No one can find you here. You have my personal guarantee. Okay?"

He blinked hard at Dean, his pupils tiny and eyes roaming Dean's face like searchlights. Finally he handed the bag over to Sam. "Every time you see me you're making me shower and eat. It's ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous is that I have to make you do those things. The bathroom's that way." He jerked his thumb behind him, and after a moment Kevin shuffled off, his shoulders slumped and his hands jammed in his pockets. Dean rolled his eyes and disappeared into the kitchen.

Sam set the duffle on the table next to Remy's lockbox and went to find his laptop. Meg shrugged her good shoulder at Cas and wandered into the stacks to find the book they'd need to undo the wards on the box. Cas started opening some of the nearby storage drawers and poking around their contents.

A few moments later Kevin stuck his head around the bathroom door. "What the hell happened in here?" he said. "I stepped on a bottle of Old Spice body wash and nearly broke my neck."

There was the sound of a book hitting the ground and then Meg's voice, low and smoky with barely contained mirth. "Oops."

They had burgers and chips with beer (even Kevin had a beer, because, Jesus, if a kid has to suddenly devote his life to deciphering the Word of God and outrunning angels and demons he can have a fucking beer), and for nearly an hour no one mentioned tablets or Gates or mind control. They made jokes and told stories and actually laughed.

Meg teased Sam about his fashion sense (or, in her opinion, lack thereof). Dean gave her shit about all the new chick stuff in the shower. Kevin made some obscure math joke that only Cas got, because, he said, math was a universal language that governed the spheres. ("Whatever" was the general consensus to that one.)

When they were finished, Sam collected the dishes and dropped them in the kitchen sink with a clatter they could hear out in the common room. When he got back he passed out another round of beer—a Coke for Kevin this time—and settled down in his chair. He reached out a long arm and dragged Kevin's bag to the center of the table, and suddenly the tablet was very much in focus again.

"Okay, kid," Dean said, "lay it on us. What's up with this second trial?"

Kevin set his drink aside and leaned forward, expression eager and hands moving as he spoke. "It's a hairy one, you guys. I mean, not hair like the last one. No dogs involved. Just hairy as in…really scary and weird."

Dean made a get on with it gesture. "We get it."

"Right. So. Assuming I'm reading it right—and I am—then the second trial is freeing an innocent soul from Hell. Sam has to go down there and get someone out, like an actual, full-on rescue mission." He paused. Glanced around to make sure they were all listening. They were. "To Hell. And back."

There was a long silence as they all absorbed the announcement and tried to make sense of it. Dean recovered first.

"An innocent soul?" he said. "You mean like Adam?"

"Who's Adam?" Meg said.

"Their brother," said Cas. "He was Michael's vessel when Sam pulled Lucifer and Michael into the cage."

Her eyes went wide. "You're fucking kidding me."

"What?" Dean said. "He's innocent. He doesn't deserve to be in Hell."

"No shit. I get that part. That's not what I'm talking about."

"What, then?" Sam said.

She waved an impatient hand. "Your brother isn't just chillin' in the lobby, boys. He's down in the cage. The fucking cage. You can't get him out."

Sam got that stubborn look on his face, all tight jaw and narrow eyes. "I can try. If I have to go down there and get someone out, then I want it to be him. He shouldn't be there."

"No, Sam, you can't." The Winchesters both glared at her, and she let out a short sigh. "I'm not trying to be a bitch here. I'm being realistic. Look, there's a saying we have down there—all the levels of Dante's Hell. You guys have read Dante, right?"

Blank looks all around, except from Cas and Kevin. "Sam, really? You haven't read Dante?"

He shrugged. "I was pre-law."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Dante was this guy back in Florence who was in love with this chick Beatrice, like crazy in love. She died, and he lost his shit. He was also exiled from Florence for…well basically for calling some important city guys out on their bullshit, so he was sorta bitter about it. Anyway, this douchebag angel called Virgil—"

"Hey, Virgil!" Dean said. "We met him. He was a douche."

"Right? Anyway, he gave Dante a tour of Hell, and Dante wrote this fuckin' book about it. Holy shit, the reno we had to go through after all that fucking bullshit.…Anyway, point is, one thing didn't change, and still hasn't changed even after all of Crowley's 'improvements.' The cage is still at the bottom. The very fucking bottom beneath the torture chambers and the rivers and the damned souls and the frozen lake. No, you won't find a giant frozen three-headed effigy with Judas in one mouth and poor little Adam Winchester in the other, but still. You can't get there."

"I can try!" Sam said again, voice rising and nearly breaking on the last word.

"Sam, for fuck's sake, listen to me! You can't. You can't get there, and even if you could, you couldn't get inside the cage. And even if you could, you wouldn't want to. And even if you did, you couldn't." She leaned across the table and looked him square in the eye. "There. Is. No. Way." Her voice softened. "I'm sorry, Sam. It's just not possible."

There was a long silence while Sam brooded and Dean fiddled with the cap from his beer.

"We don't have Death's ring anymore anyway," Sam finally said.

She flicked her fingers. "Matter settled. Trust me, Sam. I know how this bugs you, but let it go."

"I feel like an asshole."

"Of course you do. Your brother's burning in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. Poor kid. But even if you did get him out now, how long has he been down there? You were in that cage a year and look at the state your soul was in when you got it back. I sat with this bozo for months while he worked through all your cage-induced issues."

Meg shook her head and sat back. "There's nothing left of Adam, Sam. Rings or no rings, even if you could just walk into Mordor, all you'd find is two really pissed off archangels ready to buttfuck you into the next millennium."

"Yeah," he said, his voice hollow. "I get it." He paused. "It was a nice idea, though."

"Yeah," she echoed. "It was a perfectly Winchester idea."

Dean cut his eyes over at Cas. "Does it ever freak you out how these two are sorta Vulcan mind melded?"

He shifted in his seat. "I don't understand that reference…but, yes. Their connection can be unnerving."

"Okay, so, no Adam," Dean said. "Who, then? Does the tablet have anything specific?"

"No," Kevin said with a regretful shake of his head. "It just says an innocent soul. You guys have to know someone who went to Hell and didn't deserve it."

"It happens all the time," Meg said.

Their eyes swiveled toward her and she shrugged. "What? Don't look so surprised. People make deals for all sorts of reasons. Some of them are shit like a bigger dick, but others are genuinely selfless. A dad wants his sick kid to get better. Or a wife wants her husband to come home safe from war. And if you make a deal as a kid, it isn't supposed to count at all. Too innocent to know what you're doing." Her head tilted as she considered. "Those are just the deals, but it's harder to wrongly end up in Hell without a deal. Maybe if you piss off the wrong demon…or the wrong angel."

"Didn't Bela make her deal when she was just a kid? Wasn't it to save herself from her rapist dad?" Sam said.

"Ugh," said Meg. "Yeah, that deal was a stinker. She probably shouldn't be downstairs, depending."

"She was a professional thief and con artist," Dean said. "I think she earned it."

"It's much harder to get into Hell than many believe," Cas said. "Thievery ranks very low on damnable sins."

"Seriously? Bela Talbot is our innocent soul? That's what we're goin' with?"

"What's the matter, Deanikins? Is it because she was a thief, or because she was a lady thief? Did she make you feel all tingly in your naughty bits? Or maybe she—gasp—outsmarted the great Dean Winchester, while making you feel all tingly in your naughty bits, and that was just so confusing for you that there's no way such a crazy bitch deserves your big bad Winchester Hell save."

She stood up and tossed her hair back. "You know what? I think I'm done with this conversation. Why don't you boys just let me know when you decide who's worthy of your help, and I'll come a-runnin'. In the meantime I'll be in my room with my stupid cat." She snagged the books she'd found and sauntered toward her door.

Sam pulled a face at his brother and made a small, exasperated noise. "Meg—"

"Forget it, Sammy," she said over her shoulder. "Like I said, work it out. You know where I'll be." The door slammed behind her, and a strained silence fell.

"I just think there are probably people more deserving than Bela. That's all I meant," Dean said with a grumble.

"Kevin, how do we even figure it out? Do we just go to Hell with some sort of innocent soul divining rod? Do we pull names out of a hat?"

"I would recognize an innocent soul," Cas said. "Unfortunately, my presence in Hell would be detected immediately. I would be more hindrance than help to you there."

Dean drummed his fingers against the table. "What about Meg?"

"She would know as well, especially considering what she used to do there."

Dean remembered, briefly and unpleasantly, his time as Alastair's apprentice. Part of the job had been, as Cas said, assessing the souls. You had to know their sins before you started, because that's how you knew how to hurt them the most. He remembered the way Meg had ripped him apart over not being there when Cas needed him, how perfectly each word had sliced into him until he'd bled. He cleared his throat and looked away, and his voice was rough when he finally found it again.

"Yeah, Meg would know."

"She knows her way around Hell, too," Sam said.

"Does the tablet say if this has to be a solo gig?" Dean said.

Kevin shook his head. "Sam has to do the heavy lifting, but it doesn't say anything about not having a guide." His mouth lifted. "Isn't that how it's supposed to be anyway? Dante had Virgil, right? She can be your psychopomp."

"My…what?" Sam said.

"Psychopomp. Guide to the afterlife. The psychopomp escorts the newly deceased soul to…wherever they're going."

"I'm not gonna be dead, Kevin." He paled and his eyes darted from the prophet to Dean and back again. "Am I?" he said in a strained voice.

"You gotta come back," Kevin said, "so I'd say no. Definitely not." He glanced down at his notebook. "Really probably not."

"Oh God," Sam muttered.

Dean waved a hand. "No one's dying. We'll figure out how to get you to Hell alive, and you'll probably need one of these…psychopomps to do that. Douchebag angel or demon with an attitude problem. Choice's yours, Sammy."

"Perhaps we should ask Meg before we make plans on her behalf," Cas said with an uneasy glance at her closed door. "I'm sure she won't be eager to return to Hell, considering Crowley is hunting her and her previous experience was…hardly pleasant."

"She said she wanted to help, didn't she?" Dean said.

"Cas's right, Dean. It's asking a lot."

He scrubbed a hand over his face and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Jesus fucking Christ, how had his life come to this? "Yeah, fine, you're right. Maybe you could ask her, Cas. Sweet talk her or somethin'. Surely you've got some tricks up your khaki sleeve."

"I will do what I can."

There was an expectant silence as they stared at him. He stared back, expression mild and guileless. Finally Dean said, "Maybe you should start now."

"Ah." Cas rose from his chair and started toward the door. Stopped part way there and made a half turn back. "Meg is not overly fond of 'sweet talk.'"

"Cas, Jesus. Just go ask her."

He hesitated before he returned to the table and carefully placed his angel blade on it. "It would be best if I were unarmed."

Dean and Sam shared a glance that fell somewhere between amused and exasperated, but before either of them could think of anything to say, Cas had knocked on the door and gone in.

Dean sat back in his chair and swallowed the last of his beer. "I don't know, man. I think I'm beginnin' to get what he sees in her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow. I had no idea I had only published the first chapter of this here. Whoops! Fail. This story isn't finished, but it's definitely longer than 1 chapter, so I'll start getting them posted over the next few days. Also, I wrote this well before Taxi Driver aired, so...yeah, once again the show is ripping off my ideas. ;)


	3. It's the Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets up his courage to ask Meg to be Sam's psychopomp.

**What with all my expectations long abandoned,**  
 **And my solitary nature notwithstanding,**  
 **You're the one who pulled me out of that crash landing.**  
 **My stunning mystery companion.**  
-Jackson Browne, "My Stunning Mystery Companion"

Meg didn't look up when Cas ducked into her room. She had a stack of books at her elbow and one propped on her chest. Desdemona was curled up next to her shoulder and appeared to be following along as Meg read. Occasionally she would touch the page with her paw, and Meg would bat her away.

Cas cleared his throat and tucked his hands in his trench coat pockets. Meg lifted a brow but kept reading. "Can I help you, Clarence?" she said.

"How are you feeling?" he said, hoping to stall a few moments.

"I'm fine. Busy, actually, so maybe you should get on with it. What ridiculously perilous situation do the Winchesters want me to put myself in now?"

He stepped closer to the bed, and Desdemona gave up on the book and sashayed toward him with a curious little mew of greeting. He scratched behind her ears and she purred. Meg rolled her eyes. "You and that cat. Why don't I just move out and leave you two alone?"

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

She dropped the book and sighed. "Never mind. Since I guess you're not gonna spit it out, I will. They want me to go to Hell, don't they?"

His mouth twisted and he shuffled his feet. "Ah, Meg—"

"Don't bother," she said with a quelling gesture. "I knew it'd come down to that. Little Sammy Winchester's gonna need a psychopomp, and who else is qualified? You? Hardly. You'd have half a legion on your feathery ass before you got your big toe in the door."

His eyes roamed the small room. Finally he picked Desdemona up and sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to Meg. She watched the tense set of his shoulders, the stiff cant of his head, and despite the soft words he whispered to the cat, she knew how upset he was.

She caught her lip between her teeth. How had it come to this? An angel and a demon, bound together in a way that was never meant to be. Now he was asking her to possibly sacrifice herself for the people he loved, and what's more…she was going to do it. She was going to take Sam Winchester into Hell, and there was a very real chance she might not come back.

"I'm sorry," he said without turning. "I wish we knew some other way. I wish I didn't have to ask. It's too much. If Crowley—"

"I've told you before, feathers: let  _me_  worry about Crowley."

"I wish you would tell me what he did, Meg. I would like to know so that I can help you."

"I don't know how you knowing would help anything."

He hesitated. His chin tilted toward her. "Perhaps it would help  _me_."

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her silence lasted so long he was sure she wouldn't answer, but at last she said, "Think of something, Clarence. The worst thing. The most painful. The bloodiest. The most humiliating. The fastest. The slowest. The sloppiest. The most precise."

He swallowed. "Yes…?"

He hadn't felt or heard her move, but when she spoke again her voice was very close to his ear. "He did them all. Then, when he'd done them once, he started over. But don't worry about Crowley, sugar. There's one lesson he still hasn't learned."

"What's that?" he said, nearly choking on the words.

"The best torturers don't get their hands dirty," she murmured, her breath warm against his neck.

His head pivoted, and she smiled, wicked and sharp. "You are a resilient and dangerous creature, Meg," he said.

"Don't you forget it, hot wings. That's the mistake they all make."

He let Desdemona hop to the ground and turned so that he was more or less facing her. "Do you remember the day we met?"

Her mouth quirked. "You mean the day you threw me in holy fire? Yeah, it sorta sticks out."

He acknowledged that with a brief flick of his brows. "I've always remembered the way you spoke of Lucifer. Your love and devotion to him. You called him  _father_."

Her eyes clouded and she shifted away from him. "I…he created our race. Lilith was the first, and I'm a direct descendent of Lilith through Azazel. You know that."

"That isn't what I'm talking about."

She looked away. Her expression was, for once, shuttered to him, and he wondered if she were angry with him for bringing it up. "He was my cause for a long time. Maybe Crowley was right and he really was going to kill all the demons once he took over, but…I don't know. When he looked at me, I felt…I felt sort of… _whole_. Not different from what I am, but that what I am is perfect, just as it is. Anger and hate and fire and thorns, and he loved me. Not  _despite_  it or even  _because_  of it, but just because it was  _me_."

She shrugged a restless shoulder, and when she finally looked at him, her eyes were stormy and uncertain. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

He wasn't sure what he'd wanted to know. "I wish you could have had your Heaven, Meg," he finally said.

"I do too, sometimes. But then what would've happened to you?" She wrapped an arm around his chest and dragged him up the bed. "No room for angels in Lucifer's Heaven, especially not pissed off rebellious angels fighting for Team Free Will."

"Hum," he said. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out next to her. Buried his face in her hair and took a long breath.

She curled her fingers into his shirt and let her body relax against his. The familiar warmth of his Grace—banked now, but always there—soothed her, like a hot fire on a cold day. Her wound stirred and muttered and went quiet, and she closed her eyes in relief. "Why Lucifer?" she said, her lips warm against his neck as she spoke. "Why now? You've never asked before."

He shifted against her and let out a quiet sigh. "The way you spoke earlier about the cage. It sounded as if you'd given it a great deal of thought."

There was a long silence. He could feel the tension in her small body, and her thorns pricked and burned. He weathered the storm and waited her out with an angel's patience. "When you saw him in the hospital, was it really him? Or just a hallucination?"

It seemed, for the moment, apropos of nothing, but he knew she was going somewhere. "I don't know. It's odd that Sam and I would have the same hallucination, but perhaps since I took his madness from him…" He trailed off thoughtfully. "It was a very interactive hallucination, if that's all it was."

She pushed away. "What if it was really him, Cas?" she said, her eyes somehow both bright and dark at the same time.

He looked down at her and cupped her face in his big hand. "Meg—"

" _No_! Think about it! I'm not saying I want Lucifer back. I'm just asking you— _what if it were really him_? It would mean he'd found a crack in the cage. A leak. Maybe you left the door open a teensy bit when you yanked Sam out, and he—"

"I did not leave the door open!"

"Don't get testy with me, feathers. You were obviously in a hurry, since you managed to leave his oh-so-precious  _soul_  behind. Is it possible you overlooked something else, too?"

His face went through a series of transformations, and it finally settled on…she wasn't entirely sure. His eyes were huge and impossibly blue, and lines creased his forehead. "No. You said it yourself, Meg. The cage is buried too deep."

"I said that to  _Sam_ , genius. There's no way a living human could get down there. But could an archangel get  _out_? Fuck yes. Especially if he had some sort of link, like an open phone line between there and here."

"Sam's soul."

"Bingo."

He shook his head, slow jerks of disbelief. "When I took Sam's madness, the connection was severed. Neither of us see Lucifer any longer."

"Great. You hung up. Doesn't mean the weakness isn't still there, either within you or within Sam. What do you think taking him back to Hell will do to him, Cas? And I know you've seen the…that whatever it is. That  _thing_."

His face fell into grave lines. "Yes. It wasn't there before the first trial."

She bit down on her lip and chewed. "I'll take him. I'll help him find his innocent soul. My question is what if he comes back with more than just one sweet, wrongly damned little soul?"

"Meg, what you're suggesting is impossible. Lucifer can't break out of the cage. It isn't possible."

"Hhmm," she said, a low hum of doubt. "I always thought the seals couldn't get broken. Where would we find a righteous man in Hell? Looks like I was wrong." She waved a hand. "Besides, both you and Death got  _in_. That was after it was supposedly sealed for all ever and eternity."

He untangled himself from her and sat up. Ran both hands back through his hair and left it standing on end. "You wouldn't relish Lucifer's return?"

She went still. "Once I would've said yeah, absolutely. Now?" She sat up next to him and cast him a glance from the corner of her eye. "Maybe I don't want the world remade in someone else's image," she said, quietly.

"This point is perhaps moot anyway. If we manage to close the Gates—"

"I'll be sucked inside with the rest of the riffraff, so I won't have to worry about remaking the world. Right?"

He scowled. "That is not what I meant."

"I know," she whispered. "It's just easier to joke about it."

He turned to her, and his eyes were a blaze of righteous fury. "We'll think of something, Meg. I promise you."

Her smile was impossibly sad, beautiful and mournful and brimming with regret. "It's okay, Clarence," she said. She touched his face with light fingers, a gentle prick of thorns. "Whatever happens, it's okay."

He ground his teeth together and grasped her hand in his before she could pull it back. His grip was tight enough to bruise, and she felt her bones creak. "It will not be okay with me if you get trapped in Hell, Meg. Do you understand? It will  _not_  be okay, and I will not let it happen."

"Oh, hot wings," she drawled, "I just love it when you get all  _commanding_."

He jerked her arm hard enough to make her cry out, a mingled yelp of pleasure, surprise, and pain, and the glint in his eyes was feral. "This isn't a joke."

Her mouth curved as she moved into him. "Who's joking, baby? Now come on. Aren't you tired of talking?"

He sat smoldering for another few moments, his expression hard and forbidding. Then, just when she thought he might flit away and leave her there alone and aching (he'd done it before, but it had been a long time, way back in the early days when he'd still been so ashamed of everything), he released her hand and grabbed a fistful of hair instead. Yanked her head back and melded his mouth to hers.

"It's a promise, Meg," he muttered against her lips in a gravel-and-cream voice that made her shiver.

"I hear you, Castiel. Now shut up. Right now your mouth has better things to do than talk."

* * *

Dean had all but forced Kevin into a room at gunpoint, ordering him to get some rest. There wasn't anything they could do until Meg either agreed to help them or not, so they might as well get some sleep while the gettin' was good. He protested, saying he still didn't know about the third trial, but Dean waved him off and finally he gave in.

"That kid. If he's not careful he won't make it that far," Dean said as he collected their empty beer bottles.

"Yeah, I know. What do we do about it?"

He shrugged and tossed the bottles in a trashcan. "I don't know, man. He just needs to deal with it. I know it's a lot—the whole prophet thing, bein' on the run, the isolation—but it's the life."

"We were raised in the life, Dean. It's different for us. Kevin was a normal kid before all of this. He had plans. A future. Now everything he's ever known is ripped apart, and the world's gone crazy. You can't blame him for having issues," Sam said with a little grimace.

"I don't  _blame_  him, I just—look, we've all got shit to bear. We've all got struggles. By the time I was his age, I was a full-blown Hunter, and Dad never let me forget it. You were halfway out the door, and it was all on me. I had to keep it all together." He threw a bottle so hard it shattered, and Sam stared at him through eyes darkened with empathy.

"Are you mad at Kevin, or jealous of him?"

"Jealous?" Dean snorted and dropped the trashcan. "Why the fuck would I be  _jealous_?"

Sam shrugged. Held out his hands. "I don't know, Dean. You never got a chance to freak out. It was all just par for the course for us, wasn't it? Monsters and killing and hunting. You never got to be a normal kid, so Kevin's freak out is sort of…enviable. You wish you could have been in his position when you were his age. New to the life."

"I think that explosion musta rattled your gourd harder than we thought, because that's the craziest fuckin' thing I've ever heard."

Sam's mouth quirked and he turned back to his computer. "Okay. Whatever you say."

Dean squinted at the back of his brother's head and tried to think of something to say. Maybe Sammy had a point, but hell if he were going to acknowledge it. He snorted and dropped into a chair. "You think she's gonna help us?" he said, tilting his head toward Meg's closed door.

Sam glanced over his shoulder. "They've been in there a while. I think if the answer were  _no_  he'd be out by now."

"Yeah," Dean said as he idly paged through one of the books Meg had left on the table, "that's true." He glared down at the book and poked it.

"That book do somethin' to you?" Sam said.

"Huh? Oh." He slammed the cover and shoved it away. "Nah. I was just thinkin'."

"Uh huh." Sam shut the lid of his laptop. Dean had that  _tone_ , and it usually meant he wasn't going to get any work done until they talked through whatever was on Dean's mind. It could take a while for him to spill. "Thinkin' about what? Books written in obscure Latin dialects?"

"Fuck yeah," Dean said. "I'm  _deep_ , man."

Sam lifted his brows and fixed him with a patient, probing stare. Dean shifted. Cleared his throat. He looked down at the table and traced a pattern on its surface with his thumbnail.

"Dean."

He threw back his head and huffed out a breath. "You sure about this, Sammy? Really sure? Just you and Meg, down in the Pit?"

"I thought you were gonna give Meg a chance."

He held up a hand. "This isn't about her. I don't think she's gonna betray you down there; she's got just as much to lose if she gets caught as you do. This is about  _you_. You're my brother, man. I already had to…" He trailed off and lowered his chin. Coughed a little and scrubbed his stubbled jaw. "I already had to watch you jump into Hell once. Now you're askin' me to do it again."

Sam's brow creased. "It's different this time, Dean. When I dragged Lucifer and Michael into the cage, it was a suicide mission. I knew what I was doing, and I accepted it. This time I'm coming home. I'm not gonna let you down."

When he looked up, Dean's eyes were bright and his expression incredulous. "This isn't about letting me  _down_ , Sammy. I'm not  _Dad_."

"Yeah, I know. I know that. That's not what I meant. I just know you think I let you down when I didn't look for you—"

"Stop. We've been over that. You had a chance to get out, and you took it. I did the exact same thing when you were in the cage."

"That was different and we both know it," Sam said in a low voice.

Dean shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you beatin' yourself up over this, Sam?"

He gave a restless shrug. "I don't know. Maybe. Should I be?"

"No!" Dean barked. "Just…forget it. You did what you had to do. I made it out."

"Yeah," Sam said, "you did. Just like I'm gonna make it out of Hell."

"Sam, listen to me. If it comes down to you or her, you leave her. Hear me? Don't risk yourself for Meg."

Sam licked his lips and studied his brother down the length of the table. "I'm not sure that's gonna be an option for me, Dean."

"Why? Because she possessed you once? Sam, do you have any idea how fuckin' weird that is?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Dean, I do. Look, I'm not an idiot, but it's not that simple. Benny is a vampire, right? But he saved your life in Purgatory, and he helped get you out, so you lied to me to keep him safe. If the situation were reversed, and you were goin' down there, and Benny were your guide, what if I said the same thing to you?"

"Fuck that, Sam," Dean said with a heated glare. "That's completely different."

"Not completely. Meg's helped us before. She took care of Cas. I'm not saying I'd  _die_  for her down there, but I'm also not gonna just leave her behind. She deserves better than that."

Dean looked away, lips white with tension and shoulders stiff. "I don't know what she deserves," he said, roughly.

"Same thing we all do, Dean. She deserves a chance. If she says yes, I'm gonna have her back down there. Because you know what?" His mouth quirked in a  _what the fuck?_  smile. "I know she's gonna have mine. Not like you would, no, but still. She'll make sure I get home in one piece, even if it means throwing herself to a pack of demons."

Dean let out a low noise, almost like a growl, and sat back in his chair. "Okay, then, you let her. Don't be a hero down there. Get the soul and get out. You've still got another trial after this one, and if this is only round two.…"

"Yeah, I know. What's round three gonna be like?"

A silence fell, hard and deep and echoing. Dean had only ever wanted to protect his little brother, but Sam'd taken on these trials and now he had to see them through till the end. It didn't make him happy, but what else could he do? It was hard to have faith in anyone, and Sam had flaked out on him in the past—to put it mildly—but there came a time when you just had to man up and fucking trust someone. It was basically the same advice he tried to give Kevin, and maybe it was time he took his own counsel.

He was about to say that to Sam (or something close to it) when Meg's door opened and the demon strolled out, arms crossed over her chest and mouth curved in a cocky little smirk. "Well, Sammy, looks like we need to get our walkin' shoes on. We're goin' to Hell, buckaroo."


	4. Fissures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone prepares for the trip to Hell. (that was a surreal summary, even for me)

**_It doesn't matter if you didn't believe in us_ , said Mr. Ibis.  _We believed in_ _you.  
_** -Neil Gaiman, _American Gods_

After the initial furor from Meg's announcement died down, Sam and Dean decided to get some sleep. Since they'd finally gotten Kevin settled they didn't want to bother him, and they'd been going pretty much nonstop since before Meg and Cas left for Marguerite, almost two days ago. Whatever plan they were going to hatch could wait a few hours.

That left Meg and Cas to wander the bunker on their own. Meg was restless and bored, but she wasn't about to risk going out. Cas was content, especially once Meg sat him down with the books she'd culled from the bunker's library. Cas flipped pages and Meg poked around the drawers and bins. Once she drew her hand back with a yelp, and Cas glanced up, eyes big and mouth agape.

She shook out her benumbed fingers and offered him a sardonic smile. "Demon ward. Didn't notice it until too late. Sucker smarts."

"You should be cautious. There could be anything stored here, and clearly the Men of Letters take protection seriously."

"Yeah," Meg said as she opened another drawer and studied a gorgeous Faberge egg. "No shit. Why do they need this?"

He went back to his book and she thought he wasn't going to answer. Finally, "The Russian Imperial family's fascination with mysticism is well known. It's why Czarina Alexandra was such an easy target for Rasputin. The eggs are…" He trailed off with a little shrug. "It's all of a piece."

"Hum." She dropped the egg back in the drawer and shut it. Ambled over to the table and sat down across from him. Threw her feet up and crossed her ankles. "Find anything good?"

"There are some reversal spells in here, but I'm not sure they're what we need," he said with a frown.

"I guess I'll hit the stacks again."

"Why are you doing this?"

She paused and looked at him, her head tilted and her mouth tight. "Doing what?"

"Sam could find the spells."

"I think baby Winchester has some other shit to worry about now, feathers." His eyes stayed steady on hers, and she hitched a shoulder. "I wanna know what's in the box, too. For all I know it could be some magic medicine codex with a cure for…" She gestured toward her wound. "Whatever the fuck this is."

His mouth quirked.

"Besides, what else have I got to do? Can't go outside. Already had a shower. I could drag you onto this table and have my way with you, but honestly, it's so  _easy_  these days."

He shifted in his seat as his brows drew together. "Meg—"

"I'm kidding, featherbrain, calm down." She dragged her feet off the table and pulled herself out of the chair. "I remember these Men of Letters guys. Whatever happened to them?"

"Abaddon, apparently," he said in a distracted voice.

The book she'd just picked up hit the ground with a muffled thud. "Abaddon?  _The_  fucking Abaddon?"

He peered up at her. "I believe there's only one, yes."

"Fuck me. But it wasn't that long ago, was it? Like, a few decades. I thought Abaddon died with the rest of the Knights. Ya know, a little tussle with the angels several millennia ago?"

"Apparently there were survivors."

"What? How many survivors?"

He said nothing.

She slammed her hands down on the table. "How  _many_  survivors, Castiel? Any more Knights of Hell out there I should know about? They're pureblood demons, like me, but they're in a whole different realm. I can't take Sam into Hell if there's gonna be a greeting committee of fucking  _Knights_."

He glowered. "I doubt that Crowley would allow the Knights any freedom, if there are any others. Abaddon somehow survived and broke through to this plane back in the fifties. Sam, Dean, and their grandfather were able to contain him. I believe—though I don't know for sure—that Abaddon was the only Knight to survive."

"And you know this through your double-oh-seven act, huh?" she asked with raised brows.

He lowered his nose back to the pages and muttered something. She grinned and whirled away. "Fine, let's hope you're right. If not, our little Sammy won't get very far, and I'll be comin' home in a shoebox."

Cas shut the book and pulled another from the pile. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Meg."

"What? Stiff upper lip? The power of positive thinking? And here I thought you were a realist, Clarence."

"I am," he said, a low growl. "But the thought of you…in a box…is upsetting. It isn't something I wish to consider, and I don't understand how you can be so cavalier about it."

She tucked her hands in her pockets and scuffed the floor with her foot. "It's called a defense mechanism, sugar. You say something dopey and kinda cute, and then I say something scathing and sarcastic. It's sort of our thing. Are you just now catching on?"

He blinked at her. "What did I say that was dopey and cute?"

"I love it when you get all huffy." She stepped up behind him and laced her fingers through his hair. "Your face gets all pinched and your voice gets this  _tone_  and I can just imagine your feathers going all ruffled like an angry bird."

"Hhmm," he murmured, a noise that transformed halfway through from doubt to pleasure as she kneaded his scalp. He leaned back into her touch and closed his eyes. She kissed his temple and trailed her fingers down the back of his neck.

"Hey, look at that," she said.

"Hum?" he muttered, surfacing from an almost trancelike state with a start. "What?"

She reached past his shoulder and grabbed the book he'd been pretending to study. "This spell. I think you found it, cloud hopper."

"Ah, yes. I thought that one looked promising."

She slanted a half smile at him and rolled her eyes. "You're a regular Sherlock fucking Holmes."

"Should we try it now, or wake the others first?"

"No," she said, "let them sleep." Her brow furrowed over bright green eyes as she read the spell. "It doesn't look too hard, but some of the ingredients are kinda rare. Wonder if they have them around here." She set the book back on the table and ran her finger down the list. "I don't know what some of this shit is, even. Whatever happened to good old fashioned lamb's blood and saint bones?"

Cas considered the ingredients for a moment. "This spell looks highly unstable. Are you sure this is the one?"

"It says it'll undo just about any ward in town. That sounds like our thing." She glanced around uneasily. "Let's just make sure we  _aim_  really well. Would hate to undo the boys' hidey hole." She shifted. "Deano might not forgive me for that one."

"Yes. Accuracy will be key. I'll go now and get what we need."

"Wait—" But he was already gone. She scowled and slammed the book shut. "We could at least check the damn cupboard first. Flap happy angel."

* * *

The others were awake by the time Cas got back, and Meg was on the verge of (snarky, secret) panic. Dean had asked four times exactly where Cas had gone, and of course she didn't have an answer for him. She showed him the spell and recapped their conversation, and Dean just glowered at her and tossed the book aside. Sam told him to calm down, but his response was to stomp to his room and slam the door behind him.

Sam glanced at Meg with a shrug and turned away. She rolled her eyes and wondered for the thousandth time what the hell she was doing in fucking Winchester land. It was not her natural habitat. Not by a mile.

When the angel finally reappeared, Meg ignored him. Sam gave him a worried, exasperated frown. Kevin didn't look up from the tablet. Dean poked his head out of his room and promptly pulled it back and slammed the door again.

"I sense tension," Cas said.

"You're a walking, talking mood ring, Clarence," Meg drawled.

His brow furrowed in thought as he set the bag of ingredients on the table. "I was gone longer than I planned. One of the plants required is exceedingly rare, and I had to comb the Himalayas for it."

"Uh huh," Meg said, not glancing up from her magazine.

"Perhaps I should have checked in sooner."

"Ya think?" she said.

Sam shut the lid on his laptop and scowled at both of them. "You should have, Cas. We were worried. Usually when you pop off to get something, you're gone for a few minutes. It's been hours, and with Naomi and Crowley out there…" He trailed off with a shrug.

"Yes. I see the problem."

"Good," Dean said from behind them. "We already had this conversation, Cas, back in Marguerite. I know you're a badass Angel of the Lord and shit, but give us a fuckin' break here. We've got enough to worry about with psychotic demons and speed freak prophets, okay?"

"Psychotic? Oh, Deanikins, you say the sweetest things," Meg said with a smirk.

He shot her a glare that only made her grin widen. She winked at him. He shook his head and looked away. "Fuckin' Christ," he muttered.

"I'm sorry," Cas said. "I didn't mean to be the cause for concern."

"Whatever, man," Dean said. "Just try to be more careful."

"Great. Now that we've all duly chastised the angel—and not in the  _fun_  way—let's get down to business. Hell ain't gonna come to us, boys."

Sam's brow creased. "How does a living mortal get in? Is there a front door?"

"Of course there is, peaches, but we're not gonna use it." She flipped back a few pages in her magazine and slid it toward him.

He made a face. She rolled her eyes and pointed toward the headline. " _Scientists Discover 'Gate to Hell' in Turkey_ ," he read. "Okay…?"

She drew in a long breath and gritted her teeth.  _Patience. Cannot maim or kill any Winchesters_ , she thought. "It's a Plutonian gate," she said. "They're all over the place, cracks in the crust, fissures that release nasty gasses and got ancient humans high as fuck. Worship sites grew up around them, and people made sacrifices to Hades or Pluto or whoever the flavor of the month was."

She shrugged her good shoulder. "It's all the same to us. Point is, as the sacrifices grew, so did the power. Some of them, eventually, went from simple caves to actual doors."

"Wait," Dean said and held up a hand. "Go over that again. These… _Plutonian gates_ …started out as regular caves with a bunch of stoners throwin' shit in?"

"Pretty much."

"And they ended up becoming true-life Hell gates? Like,  _abandon all hope_  and shit?"

She lifted a brow. "And here I thought you hadn't read Dante. Yeah, that's the long and short of it. Belief is power, boys. Sacrifice is even more power. Offerings, prayers, rituals, all that shit filtered down through these weak spots until they made a hole, like a worm digging into an apple."

"Wait a sec," Kevin said, finally joining the conversation. "You said these portals exist all over the world?"

"There aren't as many as there used to be. Once the people stopped praying, the cracks started to close. Lack of fuel."

"So what happens when we close the Gates of Hell? Will these backdoors close, too?"

Her head tilted back and forth as her face scrunched. "The Gates of Hell are more…an  _idea_. There are the cracks, like these." She flicked her fingers toward the magazine. "There aren't giant… _gates_. Like Hell is some rich ass neighborhood and we're tryin' to keep the riffraff out."

"I don't get it," Sam said. "What will we be closing?"

"Jesus, are you morons always so literal? Look, the tablet says Hell will be sealed forever, with all the demons inside. Right? Maybe you're slapping a giant Devil's trap over the whole shebang. I don't know. Do I look like a prophet to you?"

"Meg is right," Cas said. "Just as there are no 'pearly gates' to mark the entrance to Heaven—Heaven has no entrance, not in that sense—there are no doors to seal up Hell. It's all metaphor and poetry."

"And we all know how much featherbrain loves poetry," Meg said with false brightness.

Sam waved a hand. "Okay, so you're saying we have to go to Turkey?"

"It's an option," she said. "I'm not really familiar with this one, though, so I was thinking Greece."

"Awesome," Dean said. "I fuckin' love a gyro."

"What do I pack for a trip to Hell?" Sam said.

"Food and water," said Meg. "You can't eat or drink anything while you're there. Maybe a flashlight." She smirked. "A hairbrush."

The sour look he gave her was the unspoken equivalent of  _fuck you_ , and she cackled. He rolled his eyes in disgust and opened his laptop again. "Just tell me when you're ready to go."

She cut her eyes at Dean. "I guess you want to come along to bid us adieu."

"Not  _us_  so much as  _my brother_. You could get lost down there and I wouldn't shed too many tears."

"Your concern touches me deep inside, Dean." She tapped the center of her chest. "It tickles that special spot that gets me all warm and melty."

Cas cleared his throat. "As Sam's psychopomp, it's in everyone's best interest if Meg returns as well. Sam will need a guide out as well as in," he said, testily.

Her mouth twisted. "There ya go, boys. Without me poor Sammy would be like Theseus without any string: what's the point of facing the minotaur if you can't get home again?"

"He's gonna get home," Dean said, threat and promise simmering just beneath his words. "That's not an option."

"Let me explain something to you, freckles." She fixed Dean with hard green eyes, cold and deep as arctic ice. "If I say I'm gonna do something, I fuckin' well do it. You asked me to be Sam's guide, and I'll guide him. I'll help him find the soul, and I'll help him get back out with it. I'll keep him alive and as safe as I can along the way. I know my word doesn't mean much to you, but it matters to me. At this point, it's pretty much all I've got left."

Discomfited, he dropped her challenging stare. When he finally looked up again, she saw a vulnerability in him that he rarely let show. He looked young and scared, and her brow creased. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "I can't promise we'll get back, Dean. You know that. Hell is shit. Fire and blood and fear and pain. I  _can_  promise I'll do everything I can to keep him safe. You hear me?"

He swallowed hard. "Yeah," he said. He choked a little and cleared his throat. "Yeah, Meg. I hear you."

"I'm right here, you guys. I'm not a fuckin' invalid. I've been Hunting since I was a kid, and I'm pretty good at taking care of myself."

Dean threw his arm out to point at his brother. "You shut up, Sammy," Dean said. "If Meg wants to protect you, you let her. We talked about this."

Her lips curved in a wry smile. "Yeah," she said with a shake of her head, "I'm sure you did."

An awkward silence fell. Kevin glanced up from the tablet with a curious expression. Cas shifted. Sam pretended to be absorbed in whatever he was researching. Meg shrugged and studied her nails. Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

"Okay, so, when do we get this road trip started?"

Her eyes flicked to Cas. "Whatcha say, cloud hopper? Got enough in the tank to get the four of us to Greece?"

"Yes," he said. "My…tank…is full."

"Great." She sat up and tossed her hair back. "Let's hit it."

"What, now?" Dean said.

"No time like the present, bowlegs. Why? You got plans or somethin'?"

He glared. "No. I just…I thought you'd need to, like, get ready."

"Get ready? This isn't  _prom_ , sweetheart. I'm pissed and I'm a little…yeah, fuck it, I'm scared, and I don't wanna do this. So maybe let's go before I come to my senses and blow this pop stand."

Sam let out a huff. "Meg, if you really—"

She cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Don't you dare tell me I don't have to, because of course I do. Gates closed, Crowley trapped? Sounds good to me. You'd be a helpless puppy down there, and I'm not gonna let you just feed yourself to the Pit."

"I'm not—"

"Yeah, I know. You're not helpless. You're a big, bad Hunter. Grow up, Samantha. Even your worst hunts are minor league compared to the big show. Hell is ground zero, and you're the bomb."

"I've  _been_  to Hell!" he said.

"How much do you remember, Chewbacca? Really. Think hard." His tense face and hard silence were answer enough. "That's what I thought. Now, big brother on the other hand…?"

"I hate it, Sammy, but she's right," Dean said after a moment. "If you think of the worst, most disgusting, dirtiest, shittiest shit hole you can imagine, and then multiply that by about a thousand you'll come close to it."

Sam sat back, shaken. Dean rarely spoke of his time in Hell—not at all, really, since that one time on the hood of the Impala, where they always had their best talks—so to hear him say it so baldly was…unnerving, to put it mildly.

"Sam," Cas said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, "Meg and Dean are correct. Hell is terrible beyond your wildest imaginings; however, you've been chosen for this task. The trials are yours to complete. I have faith in your abilities, and I trust Meg to lead you through safely."

His hands shook as he raised them to push his hair back off his forehead. "Yeah, okay," he said. "Thanks, Cas. I…thanks."

"We'll leave when you're ready," Meg said. "Get your stuff together. Bring the knife, and remember what I said about food."

"I'll hit the kitchen. I think we've got some jerky, and you bought those granola bars the other day," Dean said.

Kevin set the tablet down with studied care. "I think I saw some canteens when I was poking around earlier. I'll go get them."

"Better make sure the flashlights have fresh batteries," Meg said.

Everyone scattered. Sam stared around him with wide eyes. Cas pulled out a chair and sat down across from him, his expression both grave and serene.

"Don't you have an errand, Cas?" Sam said.

"Yes," the angel replied.

"It's fine. I'm…fine. Here. Was just gonna sit here a minute. Head's a little….weird, I guess. You can go do it. Your errand."

He smiled just a little, a bare curving of lips that brightened his sober dark eyes. "I am," he said quietly.


	5. The Lobby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam faces his first challenge in Hell.

**Love, and be silent.**  
-William Shakespeare, _King Lear_  (1.1.162)

The four of them materialized on a tiny spit of land just west of the Peloponnese and dropped hands. The island (if it could even be called that) was little more than a rocky outcropping covered in bird shit. The sound of waves was deafening, and the sun glared off the Ionian Sea like a searchlight. Dean grumbled something about the lack of gyro stands, but everyone ignored him.

"How did this place get enough worshippers to become an actual gate?" Sam said. "We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Fishermen and sailers are extremely superstitious," Meg said. She waved them over, and Sam and Dean reeled back from the roil of fumes filtering from a crack in the rocks. "See those?" She pointed out scraps of cloth shoved into every nook and cranny around the fissure. "Prayers. They still leave them today, so it's stayed open."

"I don't think I'm gonna fit through there," Sam said with a worried frown.

She smirked. "Stick with me, kid. I've got moves you've never seen." She glanced back at Cas and Dean and hitched her pack higher on her shoulders. "You guys should probably go. I'd hate for anyone to fall in."

"Fall in?" Dean said. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about opening a hole between dimensions. Do you think any part of that is easy? Or, ya know,  _stable_?" She looked away. "Take a minute to say goodbye, then we've gotta hit it."

Dean cut his eyes at Cas. Grabbed Sam and pulled him away, where the pounding of the surf would drown out any other sound. "Remember what I said. Come home in one piece, or I'm gettin' fly boy over there to take me downstairs to haul your ass out. Got it?"

"Yeah, Dean, I got it. Don't worry; I'll be fine."

"Right. Fine. I'm sure."

Cas frowned over at the Winchesters. He could hear them perfectly, of course; he was an angel, and not easily stymied. He sighed and ran his eyes down the tense lines of Meg's back. What to say to her? She hated  _poetry_ , as she called it, but if this were literally the last time they would ever speak.…

No. He couldn't think that way. She had promised to live, and he knew how much her promise was worth. She had an odd sense of honor, and she wouldn't let Sam down. She would bring him back, and she would toss her head and grin and tell him he'd been a fool to ever worry.

"You gettin' an eye full, wingnut?" she said over her shoulder.

His brow creased and he stepped up next to her. "I was admiring you from behind," he said.

She nearly choked. "Uh…huh. Nice view, right? This meatsuit is sex on two legs."

"I…hum. As you say."

They stood in silence for a time. The surf thundered behind them. Birds screeched above them. In front of them the earth yawned and waited.

"Meg," he finally said, "I should tell you—"

"C'mon, Clarence, don't do this."

He hesitated. Then, "I know you dislike sentimentality, but please listen to me for a moment."

She rolled her eyes, but then tilted her chin toward him. He took that as permission to continue. "I won't say goodbye, because I know you'll come back. And you will, won't you, Meg? You'll come back and we'll bake cookies and watch…watch a film. Maybe you could explain why you call me  _Clarence_. Perhaps I'll show you my wings. We could get Desdemona a friend. Cordelia or Ophelia."

"Cordelia or Ophelia and Desdemona. What's with you and the chicks who don't survive Shakespearean tragedies?"

"I suppose I've always been fatalistic."

"Hum. I guess that's why you're so sweet on me: I'm doomed."

His jaw tightened. "Perhaps," he said, low and rough.

Her mouth quirked, and when she spoke her voice had an odd hitch in it. "I told you I'm coming back, didn't I? You don't have to get all dopey about it."

"You like it when I'm dopey."

"I like it better when you're shutting up." She turned her head to look at him, and their eyes met. Locked. Held. His fingers twitched, itching to touch her, and her lips twisted in a sad little smile.

Dean cleared his throat behind them, and the moment was broken. "You guys ready?" he said.

"Yep," Meg said. "Let's do this."

Cas and Sam switched places, and the angel gripped Dean's arm. Meg tossed them a grin over her shoulder. "Hey, featherbrain. Do you remember what Cordelia said to her dad to show up her bitchy sisters?"

He blinked. "Yes, I remember."

"Good," she said. "Now take your boy and get the hell outta here."

His face creased, but after a moment they were gone, the whisper of wings drowned out by sea and wind.

Sam studied her from the corner of his eye. " _King Lear_ , right?"

"Yup," she said. Her fingers traced strange patterns on the rough stone, and the air rippled around them. "You know  _King Lear_  but not Dante?"

"Jess liked Shakespeare. The drama club at Stanford did  _King Lear_  our Junior year, and she dragged me to see it." He looked down, mouth twisting. "It was good. Lear pissed me off, though."

"He's supposed to, Sam. That's the point. He's a vain, pissy old man who just wants his daughters to flatter him. Cordelia sets him straight, but by then it's too late. Her death—the only  _good_  character in the whole play—is what gives the audience leave to pity him, because he's really pitiable, when you think about it." She shrugged at his bemused expression. "What? I saw them all back in the day, first run. Been fascinated ever since."

The smell of fumes dissipated, and Sam staggered as a vortex opened where the cave's mouth had been. It seemed to suck him in, and he resisted its pull as hard as he could. Meg held out her hand, and he stared down at it with a frown. "Come on, kid," she said impatiently. "We gotta hold hands or we won't get there together. You wanna be in Hell all by your onesies?"

He made a low noise and gripped her tiny palm in his much bigger one. She tugged on his hand until he looked up at her, brow creased in a question. "They'll try to keep you there, Sam. There are several ways. Don't eat or drink anything, ever, except what we brought. Don't believe anything you see or hear. Just me, Sam. I'm your psychopomp, and I'm the only thing you can trust down there. Got it?"

"How do I know it's really you?"

"There are rules to this. A psychopomp gets a free pass. They can't fuck with me, and they can't fuck with you  _using_  me."

He swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Let's just go."

She twined her fingers through his and winked. "Take a deep breath, Sammy boy. Here goes nothin'."

* * *

Kevin glanced up from the tablet as Cas and Dean appeared. "You guys get the kids dropped off at Hell okay?" he said.

Dean pulled a face, but Cas nodded earnestly. "All is well," he said.

"Great. Maybe you should take me back now."

"Back?" Dean said. "You mean back to Garth's boat?"

He cut his eyes at Dean but otherwise didn't deign to reply.

Dean stood for a moment, nonplussed. He glanced at Cas, but the angel's expression was smooth. Dean let out a sigh and ran a hand down his face. "Kevin, man, we thought you could stay here."

"Here? In your art deco hobbit hole?" His face creased. "Why?"

"It's safe here, buddy. Safer than Garth's boat, no matter how hard you ward it. This place has serious anti-demon mojo."

"Meg was in here," he said.

"Yeah, but you shoulda seen what we had to do to  _get_  her in here. And she couldn't even find this place until we brought her here.  _Cas_  couldn't find this place!" He shot the angel a pointed look, and he started.

"Yes, Kevin, it's true. You're safer here, and there's plenty of room." His face brightened. "You can watch after Desdemona when Sam and Dean are out hunting."

Kevin glanced from Dean to Cas and back again. "Who's Desdemona?"

"Don't ask!" Dean said. "Cas, what did I say? You're not keeping the cat in here."

"A cat?" Kevin said. "I like cats."

"She's not an ordinary cat," said Cas.

Dean made a sharp gesture. "Enough with the cat! I'm allergic to cats and I don't want it shedding all over our bunker. Do you know what happened to me this morning? It was in my room. Lying on my  _bed_!"

"Hum," Cas said. "She was closed up in Meg's room when we left." His mouth quirked. "As I said, not an ordinary cat."

"I'll stay if we can keep the cat," Kevin said. "Otherwise, I want to go back to the boat."

Dean dropped his head down into his hand and muttered something under his breath. Finally he looked up, mouth tight and eyes over-bright. "You know what? Fine. Keep the fucking cat. But, listen! If I ever find her in my room again, I'm makin' her into earmuffs. Got it?"

"Meg has continually threatened to make Desdemona into earmuffs, but she's never followed through."

"Yeah, well, unlike Meg, my ears actually get cold," he said with a hard smile.

Cas huffed out a breath, and Kevin just smiled down at his notebook. Dean shook his head at both of them and retreated to his room. He dropped his duffle on the bed and straightened the picture of Mom. He stared into her beautiful, smiling face and felt a familiar frisson of pain. Had he done the right thing, sending Sammy off to Hell with Meg?

"You there, Mom?" he said, tapping a fingertip against the picture. "I know you're in Heaven; we saw you there; but if you could think of some way to watch out for Sammy while he's downstairs…?"

He sighed and sank down onto the bed. Shoved the duffle aside and tugged off his boots. Threw his legs up and stretched out against the pillow. There was a part of him that wished he'd killed Meg years ago. He knew he couldn't do it now: even if it weren't for the whole Cas thing, ever since SucroCorp he'd seen her somewhat differently. Now it would feel like just plain  _murder_ , and Dean Winchester was no murderer. A killer, sure, but that was different.

Sam would be fine. Yeah, Hell was a shit hole, but Sam was tough. He had an incredibly bitchy demon as his guide. He was smart and a good hunter and he knew how important it was to make it back.

Dean wished he'd said some of this to his brother, but he knew Sam knew. Or at least he hoped he did. Sometimes Dean wished he could be more like Sam, more willing to just lay it all out there. But that wasn't his way, and it never had been. He regretted the ways he was like his father even as he reveled in them, and that was the crux of it all, wasn't it?

He scowled and tugged his arms out from behind his head and let them fall at his sides. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking hard and trying not to think. There was a small movement at the door, but he ignored it. A moment later a furry head butted against his hand.

"Goddammit," he muttered.

The cat ignored him and curled up between his arm and his side with a small noise, a sound that fell somewhere between contentment and annoyance. Dean glared down at her, but she ignored him. After a moment he echoed her noise with one of his own and closed his eyes.

It didn't occur to him until quite a long time later that so far he'd never sneezed in Desdemona's presence, despite his cat allergy.

* * *

Sam stared around him with wide eyes. He was in a park, one he recognized. It had been a favorite escape spot when he was at Stanford and felt overwhelmed by homework and school life and just… _life_. He'd taken Jess here on their second date, and they'd had a picnic. Grilled chicken and spinach salad and fresh strawberries, her favorite.

He turned his head, and Jess was there, smiling and laughing and gorgeous. She'd just told him she was pregnant. He hadn't heard her say it, but he knew that's what she'd just said. He blinked a moment, taking it in. He was going to be a father! He felt equal parts terror and joy, and his heart was full to bursting as he swooped her up and kissed her full mouth.

"I hope it's a girl," she said through his kisses. "I hope she has your eyes and my chin, and I hope she's tall. Not as tall as you, maybe, but taller than me. We can name her  _Mary_."

"We gotta buy a crib," he said. "A crib and a highchair and a carseat and one of those…whatchacallits. Um, the bouncy things so the kid can get around the house before she can walk."

Jess laughed. "It'll be a while before we need all that, Sam. For right now we should probably concentrate on getting the house finished. A pregnant woman can't live in a construction zone!"

Getting the…of course. Six months ago they'd bought a small, run-down house just outside of town, and they were working on fixing it up. It was going to be their dream home, a tiny Craftsman bungalow with its original wood fixtures and stained glass.

"What about the wedding?" he said, surprised at the words even as they left his mouth.

She flashed him a teasing grin. "I think that can be moved up, don't you? We'll have to track down Dean, but I'm sure your parents know where he is."

"Right," he said. "My parents." Mom and Dad, back in Kansas. Dean…hard to track down because he was a roadie. Not the skeevy kind, either, but a well-paid, highly respected technician who had worked on nearly every major tour in the past decade. Sam shook his head, overwhelmed.

"Is this real?" he said.

Jess chuckled, a sweet, musical trill. "Of course it is, silly! Why wouldn't it be? Are you okay? You look a little rattled."

"Yeah, I just.… Yeah, I'm fine." He ran big hands back through his hair and tugged hard, hoping the pain would wake him up. Nothing. Maybe it wasn't a dream. But, how…?

"Good. I know this is a bit sooner than we expected, but I figure things happen for a reason, right?" She pressed her hand to her belly and smiled.

"Uh huh," he said.

A crease formed between her brows. "Honey, why don't you take a deep breath? It'll be great, you'll see. You'll make partner within a year, and with that advance I got for the next book…" She trailed off with a little frown, but then it cleared like the sun coming out from behind a bank of clouds. "Here, sweetie, have a strawberry. They're so good, and I'm sure it'll perk you right up."

She held out the bowl of bright fruit with a gentle curve to her mouth. He stared down at it. The strawberries looked tempting, but also somehow…obscene. Red as fresh blood, swollen and tumescent, with seeds like tiny maggots. He swallowed hard and glanced up at Jess. Her coaxing expression seemed too eager, and her eyes flashed with greed. He shifted away.

"Baby, what's wrong? You love strawberries."

Her voice was strange, tense and stretched, and the sun suddenly felt too hot. It beat down on him steady and harsh, and he shrugged out of his jacket.

"I'm not hungry," he said through a throat gone tight. A juicy strawberry sounded perfect, the exact combination of sweet and tart to quench his aching thirst…but no. No, no. Something stopped him. A voice. A memory, as pale and faded as a ghost.

_They'll try to keep you there.… Don't believe anything you see or hear.… Don't eat or drink anything.…_

"Sam?" Jess said. He ignored her and rubbed his temples. "Sam? Sam, are you listening to me? Sam!"

The voice changed. "Sam! Goddammit, you moose, snap out of it!"

He tossed his head back and forth as though shaking off cobwebs, and the bright scene around him shredded. Meg's annoyed scowl filled his vision—above him—and he realized he was sprawled out on his back. A rock dug into his spine, and he shifted with a wince.

"Fuck me, Gigantor, I've never been happier to see your dopey eyes in my whole fucking life. Come on, sit up." She wrapped an arm around his middle and easily pulled him up. He gripped her as a wave of dizziness hit, and she held on without complaint.

"It's okay," she said. "It'll pass. Here, drink this." She held up a canteen, and he reeled back in panic.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," she said. Her voice turned soothing, and she smiled a little. "Look, it's what we brought. Old-ass canteen from your bunker. Remember what I said? They can't use me to fuck with you. It's me. For real."

He held out a shaking hand and took the canteen. Sipped long and slow, but stopped before his thirst was quenched. They needed to ration the water, instinct told him.

She sat back on her heels and studied his pale face. "What did you see?" she said quietly.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.

"Fair enough." She tilted her head. "You did good, Sam. They came at you hard, and you resisted."

He twisted the top back on the canteen and passed it to her. Grimaced. "How do you know?"

"I know how this place works," she said with a cynical lilt to her mouth. "You don't wanna tell me about it, that's fine. But I can guess." She reached out to tap his forehead and ignored his flinch. "I've been inside that melon, and I know what your weak spots are." She shoved the canteen into her pack and zipped it closed. Tossed the bag over her shoulders and stood up. "We should keep moving. They know we're here now."

She offered him a hand and he let her help him up. Paused a moment to take stock. They were in a narrow, rocky passage. He had to duck to keep from hitting his head on the uneven ceiling, and he stumbled over the rough floor. He followed her lead and retrieved one of the flashlights he'd packed. It all seemed so mundane. Walking through a cave with a flashlight in your hand. He felt like a Boy Scout.

"I wasn't expecting it to be like that," he said after a while.

She slanted a look over her shoulder. "No one ever does." A pause. "It was nice, right? Like, maybe, everything you've ever wanted?"

He hesitated. Swallowed through his dry throat. "Yeah. It was."

"Uh huh," she said. "There was an episode of  _The Twilight Zone_  once…you ever watch that show?"

He shrugged even though she was ahead of him. "Not much."

"It's fucking depressing. A marathon of that shit and you'll want to blow your brains out fast." He made a noise behind her, and she grinned. "Anyway. There was this episode…it was about this guy who died and went to what he thought was Heaven. Everything he ever wanted, him barely having to think about it. Women, booze, always winning at the roulette wheel. Eventually he realized having every wish and whim granted was really shitty, like skin-crawling, and he wasn't in Heaven at all."

"Hum," Sam said, a low, contemplative sound.

"I'm just sayin'. Hell's an insidious place, Sam, and if something looks too good to be true, you can pretty well guarantee it is."

"One thing about my life, Meg?" His mouth twisted in a wry, bitter moue. "It's taught me that much, if nothing else. A strawberry is never just a strawberry, and there's always rot under the shiny red surface."

That made her strangely sad. She remembered the Sam she'd possessed, how hopeful he'd been. That had been a long time ago, though. Before his brother went to Hell. Before Ruby and the demon blood. Before Lucifer and the Cage.

"Yeah," she said without irony or mocking, "life fucking sucks and then you die."

"Huh," he said, a brief, humorless chuckle. "For a little while, anyway."


End file.
